ment. "What a splendid pauper!" said Charles to himself, as he turned away. The sports proceeded the animation of personal movement, and the agitation of tongues and trombones increased-groups of dancers, far more active than either graceful or orderly, bobbed up and down from the undulating surface of human heads-and Pleasure, "the reeling goddess with the zoneless waist," made her pervading presence more and more evident. Our young novice, as he continued to survey the motley scene through the loop-holes of his dark vizor, began to find that some of the mouths and chins were not quite so exquisite, for, in truth, their dazzling impression was partly due to the contrast afforded by the black dominoes. The happy voices, too, seemed less happy as their purport became less indistinct. Of the "winged words" which flew about in copious volleys, a very small proportion betokened any connexion with common sense, and a still smaller with wit-though the attempts at the latter, which were by no means infrequent, were aided expressly by a party of ultra-comic professors from one of the minor theatres. A confused rush of people towards one spot next attracted Charles's attention. Penetrating as well as he could into the bustle, he heard the term "pickpocket" in free circulation, while several persons were compressing within their grasp a masked and cloaked figure, who was struggling and protesting innocence. The mask was roughly torn from his face: painful to view was the opposition presented by the real, fear-whitened features to the grotesque ruddiness of the mask; and much amazed was Charles to recognize one who had been, two years before, a valued and exemplary servant in a family that was intimate with his own. Charles was about to yield to a strong impulse, and stand forward as the advocate of what might be oppressed innocence-when lo! the corpus delicti, the missing pocket-book, fell palpably out from beneath the man's dress, and put an end to the hope of interference in his behalf. The gravity of the reflections furnished by this incident did not, of course, improve Charles's interest in the levities that were going on around him. He grew tired of such incongruous associations as Edward the Black Prince bandying jokes with Punch and Judyor a Virgin of the Sun exchanging compliments with Jack-in-the Green-or even (though not so wholly incongruous) Julius Cæsar congratulating the Marquis of Granby on the possession of a head as bald as his own. The heat, which had become little short of intolerable, made the endurance of a covered face an act of positive fortitude. Besides a full-blowing band in the body of the house, there was another in a contiguous saloon, forcing its rival claims on the distracted ear; and the general jar was promoted by a strange variety of interjected sounds from all quarters. In his attempts to make a partial escape from the commotion, Charles puzzled and paced about till he found he had strayed into the outer precincts of the supper-room. There, hilarity was high within, and the lustre of many lights was vivid. Presently the portals were further expanded, when there issued forth into the antechamber-could it be? with that flushed face, that staggering step?-yes, it was-it was Mr. Pudmore himself Mr. Pudmore in the two-fold predicament of being "Bacchi plenus," full of Wright's champagne, and "non sine candidâ puellâ," not without signs of feminine company. Shocked and distressed, his pupil shrank back to let him pass, and then stood transfixed in rumination on the strange discovery. Here was enmity betwixt precept and practice! Here was a pattern shewn wrong side outwards! "Ah!" thought the newly-instructed tyro, "I have seen and heard more than enough for one night's experience;-I will remain here no longer." As he sought again the centre of the saturnalia for his purposed exit, a couple of Amazons, whose bulk and behaviour marked them for more than Amazonian, were busy at a fistic encounter, in which some heavy blows and hard epithets were exchanged before authority could step in to "deracinate such savagery." He hastened to quit the temple of discord, stripped the black anti-respirator from his face, and felt the purer atmosphere of the streets at once a reproach and a relief. Charles Forester was far from being enough of a casuist to be able to weigh and determine the amount of moral evil that might belong to the sort of entertainment he had just witnessed; yet he could not help feeling, on the whole, that the Pudmorean picture had done no very great injustice to the scenic original; and that one visit to such an exhibition might well enough suffice for a life. His boyish and imprudent frolic had, however, as it turned out, brought him some little advantage; for he had learned from three breathing examples, that there are masks in real life far more deceptive than any which are worn at a masquerade; and he had obtained, in particular, from his own unconscious tutor, a practical illustration of the difference between a moralist and a moral man. The lesson was disagreeable, but might be useful. On his return home to Uxbridge, Charles made no mention to his parents of the masquerade affair, being anxious to avoid injuring his tutor, though he could not now respect him as before. As for that correct Latinist himself, he was greatly mortified on being informed by his pupil that he had seen, but should not sing, his late metamorphosis; nor did his mortification much abate until it found vent in a little bit of malice against poor Charles Wright, whom he chose to connect, in the way of cause or agent, with his own lapse. Mr. Pudmore, like Martial, had a turn for epigram; and the wine-merchant, it should be observed, had about that time prosecuted unto damages a literary journal, which had committed the mistake of treating his wines as compositions. Mr. Pudmore thereupon penned a quartrain, as follows: "Wright boldly writes up, "Wright's Champagne," as his; Ask what right Wright has to write Wright's Champagne ?" With this effusion, of which he could not refrain from giving Charles a private copy, Mr. Pudmore threw off in part his uneasiness; but from that period he became less prone to indulge in the loftiness of moral declamation; and would rather lower than raise his voice whenever, in teaching elocution to his pupil, he had to deal with a passage of that character in an ancient or modern author. G. D. THE PLUM-PUDDING. TOWARDS the end of the last carnival, M. Aubertin, a rich banker retired from business, sat at his fireside with his friend, M. de Marans. It was about midnight; M. Charles Aubertin, the son, and the ladies of the family had mentioned in the course of the evening their intention of visiting the masked ball at the Opera-house, and, in fact, had gone thither for an hour or two. The conversation soon became enlivened between the two old cronies. "My dear Aubertin," said M. de Marans, "I cannot comprehend the obstinacy with which you persist in opposing the union of your son with Madlle. de Morris, who is a young person all perfection, if such exists, tolerably rich, and of a family quite unobjectionable. Then, to all appearance, they love each other, and—” "It is not I, my friend, who throw any obstacle in the way of this marriage; it is Madame A." "I know it; but what are her reasons?" "Ha! ha! reasons? reasons?—you know as well as I do she will not give any." "Listen, Aubertin; you are a reasonable as well as a prudent fellow; you have ever been so. I have never seen but one fault in you, which has often clouded your good qualities, and that is jealousy." "Ha! jealous-I am no longer so. You have seen my wife depart for the opera ball, without my being tempted to accompany her." "I believe you; she has turned the corner of fifty! Then I do not think you are any longer jealous. I am not sorry to perceive that you have been so during twenty years at least, as this long jealousy has put your love to the proof." "Yes, I have been very fond of my wife." "That fondness," resumed M. de Marans, "which I am far from blaming, has permitted Madame Aubertin to assume a great empire over you, and just now she abuses it." You believe me, then, very weak?" exclaimed M. Aubertin. "So weak," replied his friend, "that you know not even the motive of your wife's refusal.” Who has told you so?" "You yourself; but, since you know it, tell it me, then, and at least let it be probable." "It is very consistent." "Let us see." "It is about a plum-pudding." M. de Marans drew back on his chair. He looked attentively at his friend, and appeared to seek in his eyes the fatal sign of his being about to take leave of his senses. The countenance, however, of M. Aubertin was calm and mild, although somewhat cast down. "Yes, a plum-pudding.” "Come, come," resumed M. de Marans, “let us talk seriously. Are you joking? "Not at all. You know that it is my favourite dish, and that it is not only offensive to the palate of my wife, but she cannot suffer to see it on the table. She would die with hunger rather than taste a morsel of it." "I know that; but what has that to do-" "It was necessary to call her repugnance to mind before relating to you, as I am about to do, what passed at my house, now nearly two-andtwenty years since." "At the time when you had your fit of jealousy?" Precisely. My wife was then about eight-and-twenty. I was still in business; we received much company; M. de Morris visited us very often.” "The father of her whom your son wishes to marry?" "Just so. If you had known him in those days, you must recollect that he was a handsome cavalier, amiable, lively, and whose assiduities might well give cause for jealousy,-and so did I become jealous." I know you were," said M. de Marans; "I recollect it all, my friend. I would lay a wager, for all that, that this jealousy had no just foundation, and that you mistook for realities the phantoms of your unsound mind.” "You would lose, my dear A., did you make any bet of the kind." I defy you to prove it." Nothing is more easy." M. Aubertin got up from his seat, and went to knock with the back of his hand on the wall of the parlour: the wall gave a hollow sound. "You know," said he, "that there once was a certain Denys at Syracuse, who made use of similar means to arrive at the secrets of his friends; a king of England copied him, and they called this hidingplace The King's Ears." "Truly ?" "Yes; in the early days of my marriage I constructed there a small recess, the existence of which no one ever suspected, and from whence was heard all that was said in the parlour. I got into it by a door skilfully concealed; and, when they thought me far away, there I was snug." "What indelicacy! Aubertin, I should never have thought you capable of it." "You are right. I do not seek to defend myself. But recollect that I had a beautiful wife, that I was jealous, and that I am telling you the story of a plum-pudding. Besides, I assure you it is more than ten years since I set foot in that hiding-hole, and I have even lost the key of it. I could then follow at will the progress of the passion of M. de Morris, and his course of seduction with my wife. I listened every day to the lover becoming more tender,-the beloved wife at first opposing her love for me, then her duties, her regard for her son, the same of whom it is this day a question if he shall be married or not to the daughter of the seducer: and M. de Morris urged his love, which would be eternal; he offered his fortune, his entire life; he would carry off my wife-conduct her to the world's end! One day, at length, his passion no longer knew any bounds; it burst forth in reproaches at not being loved in return, and Madame Aubertin said to him in broken accents and in tears, that she would not deliver to him the secrets of her heart; but that perhaps he had nothing to complain of, and that it was possible he was not the only one unfortunate. In a word, she gave him to understand, that I was the only obstacle to his happiness; and that, were I hors de combat, she should be happy to acknowledge his love and devotion." "Indeed!" exclaimed M. de Marans. "It was at least what M. de Morris understood her to mean," continued M. Aubertin ; "" upon which he exclaimed, that I had been created to render him the most unfortunate of men: he reiterated that, without me, his life would glide away smooth and happy; and though he had not dared to avow all his hatred, nor express in precise terms the charitable wish of seeing my widow put on her weeds, he said sufficient for Madame Aubertin to stop him, by observing, that I was her husband, and that those were wishes and words which she could not listen to. They separated in sadness, and I came out of my hiding-place-what was to be done? My rival was loved, or at least on the point of being loved. Never did a jealous mortal suffer as I did; during two days I harboured a thousand projects in my mind. On the third day a servant came and knocked at my door. "Who's there? What do they want with me?' said I. "It is the cook, sir, who wishes to speak to you,' said the servant. "My cook! what can he want with me?' "He has perhaps some favour to ask of you,' said my wife. 'Go to your room and receive him.' "I have nothing to conceal from you,' replied I to Madame Aubertin; especially with my domestics. Let him come in.' "The cook entered-pale, grown thin, and with a mysterious air, which is the index of some impending catastrophe. "What has happened to you, Rigaud?' said my wife to him, whom this figure renversée had terrified. "Ha, Madame!' replied Rigaud, his cotton cap in hand. If you but knew "Speak, Rigaud!' Rigaud had received a letter without a signature, in which he found a bank bill of a thousand francs, and the promise of a like sum, provided he would put in his plum-pudding-a dish that was to be prepared for me alone-the contents of a small phial, which was joined to the letter. He was assured that it would only render the plumpudding more palatable. "The honest cook gave me this letter, and drew from his pocket the phial of which he had been speaking. I took the phial. I examined the contents of it, and on pouring out some drops on a bit of sugar, I gave it to a little dog that my wife was very fond of, to eat. Scarcely had the poor animal touched the poisoned food, when his limbs became stiff, his eyes began to wander, and he soon fell dead on the carpet. "Oh heavens! it is poison!' exclaimed my wife; and throwing herself into my arms, she bathed my face with her tears. "The cook, motionless from fear, prayed of me to accompany him to the commissary of police, to make his declaration there; but I, calm, and with sang froid, praised the fidelity of Rigaud. I acknowledged that I owed my life to him; and giving a bank bill of a thousand francs to replace that which had been promised to him, I recommended him to pay attention to my plum-puddings. When I was alone with my wife, she began to weep,-she overcame me with marks of her love. "Another in my place might have been curious to assist at the first meeting of M. de Morris with my wife. As for me, I knew Madame Aubertin so well,-I had so well seen all the horror which the projected crime had inspired her with, that I was certain that an inter |